


Transactional

by shadowshrike



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dialogue Heavy, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowshrike/pseuds/shadowshrike
Summary: After signing the first peace treaty with Sreng in over a generation, Sylvain and Dimitri share a celebratory dinner, a confession, and some hard truths about themselves.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 244





	Transactional

**Author's Note:**

> As always with stories where I write Sylvain, there are mentions of habitual cheating and sex as a coping mechanism. Nothing explicit, but if that makes you uncomfortable, you'll want to skip this one. Also, though they do end up exploring their relationship together, there is very little actual romance in the fic, instead focusing on the possibility of a growing romance in the future as they heal.
> 
> Enjoy and happy new year!

'War changes people', went the conventional wisdom. But if you were born into war, your first toy a blunted sword and your bedtime stories praising heroes who won justice through death, it was the peace that changed you. 

That was how Sylvain had ended up in Fhirdiad so often, breaking bread with nobles who’d wanted him dead during the days of the Empire’s invasion. The Kingdom didn’t need another knight charging off to get himself killed as it had during the resistance. It needed leaders. Men and women who agreed with the king’s vision of a Faerghus where the people did not starve in the streets, where your voice didn’t depend on whether or not you had a crest, and where the strong supported the weak so they could find their own strength. Dimitri needed Sylvain as his margrave, making their borders safe enough that relics and the bloodshed that followed them could be put away forever. He needed wise minds and powerful words rather than a strong sword arm.

Faerghus already had a sword arm named Felix who regularly reminded them that carrying two swords was a fool’s errand. Faerghus already had a shield, too, in Dedue, though that remained a point of contention between him and the king with Duscur’s slow restoration. That left Sylvain to do what he did best: run his mouth. A humble role for a Faerghus noble who’d been born and bred to fight.

Of course, Dimitri didn’t see it that way. When he thanked Sylvain with a private dinner for his contribution towards the peace treaty with Sreng that had been signed the past week, it took less than fifteen minutes for him to suggest that Sylvain would make a better king than he did.

A new record. It must have been a stressful week.

The margrave laughed as he sliced into his pheasant, "Me, a king? You need to stop joking, Your Majesty. You aren't cut out for it."

Dimitri, as usual, didn’t laugh. Sylvain would have been insulted if he hadn’t witnessed the truly abysmal puns that made him giggle like they were kids again, listening to Glenn’s impression of Gustave. Sylvain might have appreciated the sound of Dimitri letting loose, but some blows to man’s pride were simply too high to pay for the sake of comedy.

"I'm not joking, Sylvain. You're resourceful and have far better insight into the noble reforms that need to happen, while I..."

"Have the love of the common people who are the backbone of our country," Sylvain finished for him, waving his knife in the air. He basked in Dimitri’s familiar glare and swallowed a bite of the buttery smooth bird. "I can worry about Sreng and the crest stuff no problem, but I've never experienced what it’s like to live among the people of Fhirdiad like you have. At the end of the day, I'm still a blue-blooded layabout."

Dimitri’s fork snapped past his own plate to skewer one of Sylvain’s vegetables. The scowl on his face would have been terrifying if his petulant chewing didn’t bring back fond memories of a much younger Dimitri declaring that a prince had a right to his subject’s food if they ignored him to chat up the maids. "That is utter nonsense. You have done so much for our people that I could never accomplish. Prosperity for the less fortunate cannot happen without peace at our borders, which you have made more progress towards than anyone in generations." 

Dimitri’s angry chewing slowed, his eye glazing over. Sylvain’s mood sunk with it.

It always came back to their fathers, didn’t it? 

Whatever started the war which kept the Lance of Ruin and the Gautiers well-fed, it had been King Lambert whose campaign against Sreng had made peace seemingly impossible. When they were children, they’d thought him a hero for driving off the marauders and conquering their land. They’d played knights and barbarians, acting out the epic battle scenes immortalized in tapestries around the castle, laughing as Dimitri pretended to cut off the chieftain’s head with Areadbhar as his father had before him. Not to be outdone, Sylvain claimed he’d seen the real battle in Gautier territory. He wove a wild tale about how he’d been cornered but grabbed a training spear at the last second and ran the savage from Sreng straight through. A ridiculous claim for a child who’d seen fewer years than the family dog and only stood at half the spear’s height, but the imaginations of children who still believed in fairies and dragons accepted it as fact.

It wasn’t until Sylvain actually killed someone from Sreng half a decade later that he understood how wrong those games had been. For Dimitri, it had been the Tragedy and razing of Duscur that opened his eyes. And so, a year ago, Dimitri had ordered every tapestry of the invasion to be removed from the palace. He’d torn down his father’s legacy with a clenched jaw and shaking hands, clawing against every lesson he’d ever learned about filial devotion. 

Sylvain had never been prouder of his king. Even Felix commended him for it, determined to drown out the misgivings of Gustave and his own father. 

There was no moving forward for Faerghus until they could stop the glorification of war their ancestors clung to. It would be a long time before the wounds between Sreng and Faerghus scarred over as a reminder of the past instead of remaining an ugly scab, easily picked open. Choosing to stitch them shut was a step in the right direction.

Sylvain tossed his fork down on his plate to take a swig from his drink. The clatter stirred Dimitri from his reverie. 

"We might have signed a treaty, but that’s not going to be enough to keep the peace,” Sylvain stated when he’d set his mug down again. “After all, the Alliance lords have been at peace for generations now, but you know as well as I do that there's still plenty of suffering within their borders. Not as much as Faerghus, maybe, but their dirt isn't frozen for half the year, either."

A wry smile lifted the king’s lips. "When did you become so wise?"

"Hey, now. When we were kids you used to think I knew everything," Sylvain protested, raising his hand to his heart in mock offense.

"I've always thought you were intelligent. However, you also got us into twice as much trouble as you got us out of,” Dimitri groused. He jabbed a bit of pheasant in his direction. “ _ That _ is not wisdom."

"Hold on just a second. You can't say I was unwise just because I broke a few rules. In fact,  _ you _ could stand to learn something from breaking a few more, Your Majesty.” Sylvain pointed right back at Dimitri after emptying his fork - even he didn’t want to accidentally fling food at the king. “Besides, it’s not like anyone got seriously hurt, did they?"

"You did. Often."

Sylvain wouldn’t consider any of his injuries from their excursions as children serious. Sure, he’d broken a bone along with Ingrid’s fall when she slipped on scaffolding she shouldn’t have been climbing to get into the pegasus stables, dyed the snow red with his blood while fighting off wild animals when he and Felix had snuck out for an unsanctioned midnight hunt, and twisted his ankle when he held Dimitri on his shoulders so he could see over the crowd watching Glenn beat up some thieves in the town square. None of that held a candle to what he faced at home.

Sylvain swallowed so the bitterness in his heart didn’t ruin the taste of his meal, plastering on a smile. "See? No harm no foul, then."

"Sylvain..."

"Come on, Your Majesty, it's just a joke,” he said as if he’d ever used that phrase and meant it. 

His wink didn’t bring back Dimitri’s smile. "A joke in poor taste. I fear you care too little for yourself sometimes."

"Funny hearing you say that,” Sylvain snapped. Like many things in his life, he regretted his action the moment it happened. The king didn’t react beyond a minute tightening of his lips, but Sylvain was already uttering an apology, "I’m sorry. That was petty and thoughtless of me."

Setting down his silverware, Dimitri took three deep breaths before responding. "Your apology is accepted. Still, I am concerned about you. Not because you'll overwork yourself like Dedue or alienate our allies by being quarrelsome like Felix, but because of the things I still hear about your behavior. Three women in one month? Really, Sylvain?"

"In my defense, two of those were at the same time." Dimitri’s glower burned hotter than the hearth. "...Regardless, I won't let it get in the way of our treaty or the upcoming class reforms."

"I know you won't, and that's what concerns me."

"Huh?"

Frustration painting his features, Dimitri’s swept his arm in a sharp dismissal. "You feign carelessness, but you've never once let your dalliances get in the way of your duties. That can only mean you do these things on purpose. It is as though you want cheating on women to be your legacy instead of your remarkable leadership."

It was going to be one of those nights. And here Sylvain had started to hope he’d make it through an entire conversation without Dimitri forcing a talk with him about his unruly conduct.

Sylvain leaned back in his chair, food forgotten. "They're the ones who keep trying to date me despite knowing what I'm like. I'm just revealing the rats dolled up in fancy dresses and expensive rouge. If they didn’t go after me, it would be you or Felix."

He knew what came next. Dimitri telling him that not all women were that way (as if Sylvain couldn’t tell the difference between upstanding ones like Ingrid and Mercedes and the ones who kept his dick wet), and Sylvain rolling his eyes until his liege snapped at him, forcing a half-felt apology. 

"...have you ever loved one of them?" Dimitri said instead, throwing the entire script out and Sylvain’s expectations with it.

"Huh? Love? Where's this coming from?"

The king’s mouth opened and shut. "I’d like to hear an answer to my question first."

That was easy, at least.

"No. Never,” Sylvain replied with confidence. “Sure, I might drop a few poetic lines about their eyes shining like stars in the moonlight, but they're just that. Lines. You and I both know it's nothing more than a game."

There was the glower again. "It's cruel to play games with people's hearts."

"As you and Ingrid remind me every time I see you. Did you invite me to dinner for another lecture?"

Chagrined at his poor hospitality, though still clearly annoyed, Dimitri dropped his chin. "No. I’m sorry."

"Alright, then it's your turn.” Sylvain tossed his hands behind his head, rocking his chair with the tips of his boots. “Why are you so interested in my love life?"

Eye darting away from the table and Sylvain, Dimitri did his best impression of a fish again. Mouth open, mouth closed. Open, close. Sylvain almost felt bad enough to rescind his question before Dimitri gave his response.

"I suppose, I wanted to know what part I could play in it," he murmured, as though his meddling was some sort of secret instead of an immutable part of Sylvain’s life.

"If you're trying to get me to settle down with a nice girl, you can save your breath,” the margrave chuckled. His chair’s feet slammed back to the floor. “No offense, but I doubt I'd be interested in the kind of women you'd pick.

"And what kind of woman is that?" Dimitri wondered, licking his lips.

"Someone respectable. Straightlaced. A girl who won't let me get into trouble. I've already got Ingrid, I don't need a wife trying to be my mom, too."

The king’s expression crumpled and reconstructed so quickly Sylvain almost missed it. With a heavy sigh, the ice of his eye melted away. 

"You really don't like people like that, then..." he muttered.

"Something wrong, Your Majesty?"

Dimitri’s answering smile was the kind Felix would snap at him for if he were here. Perfect, thin, and as brittle as the frozen surface of a lake in autumn. "It's nothing. How are the buns this evening?"

For most of his life, Sylvain would have dropped it there. If Dimitri didn't want to talk, Sylvain wouldn’t try to drag it out of him, fearing the conversation would wade into territory neither of them wanted to explore. Turning a blind eye was what he had been best at.

Becoming Margrave had changed that. Sylvain couldn’t run anymore, not with so many people depending on him, and he absolutely wouldn't watch his few real friends pull away from him without doing anything as he had in his youth.

Sylvain leaned over the table, elbows nestling around his abandoned dinner. "Oh, don't think you're worming your way out of that one so easily. Out with it. What's bothering you?"

"It's…” Dimitri’s throat worked, though he had enough poise not to back away from his guest’s leer. “You truly won't let it go?"

"You look more guilty than the hunting dogs after they steal food off the table. I think that warrants investigating.”

Closing his eye, Dimitri brought his gauntleted hands above the table, folding them neatly on the edge of it. He would have looked like a royal painting if not for the restless flexing of his fingers in their armor, fidgeting as if reciting an incantation that would rescue him from having to face Sylvain. His attempts to distract himself were as clumsy as his actual spellcasting.

"The truth is, I'm afraid my feelings about you have changed recently," Dimitri stated when the silence had lasted long enough to suffocate.

Sylvain cocked his head. "Changed?"

"I know we were never the closest of friends at the Academy and afterward...well, I couldn't blame you for keeping your distance.” They’d only spoken of it once, the dark years where Dimitri had become a monster even Sylvain couldn’t forgive, consumed by his demons they had all ignored to follow their selfish dreams. Dimitri hurried to the next part of his confession. “I've been thinking about the kind of queen I desire lately. It's all Gilbert and Rodrigue will talk about some days. I've concluded that I would prefer to court someone kind-hearted. Someone smart, open-minded, and passionate about healing this world. One who will fight for what's right rather than easy and has the charm and wit to make it happen."

Sylvain nodded along. Those were some high standards, but if you couldn’t have high standards as the king, then what was the point? "That sounds like the total package for a guy like you.”

"I agree. And I realized a few weeks ago, I already know someone like that, though they could never be my queen.” Color bloomed on his cheeks. “I believe I've grown to love them as something more than a friend and never noticed it until now."

Ah, so that was what this was about: Dimitri’s troubles in love. 

The man had been accidentally breaking hearts since he was sixteen with his puppy-dog earnestness, massive strength, and piercing gaze. Who could resist a dashing warrior prince? He might have earned a few more bumps and bruises since then, but the extra size that came with it gave the king a new, rugged appeal that made the ladies shudder when he graced them with a bow. Sylvain had admittedly stolen more than his share of glances, too, once he realized how nicely Dimitri could clean up.

But that probably wasn’t the kind of reassurance Dimitri was looking for right now. Better to focus on the man Dimitri had set his sights on.

"Sorry to break it to you, but your crush on Claude isn't a surprise to anyone else," Sylvain chortled with a supportive grin. “And yeah, he’ll be a hard catch, but if anyone has a chance with him, it’s you. Don’t sweat it. You’ve got a professional’s help now.”

Dimitri’s eyebrows knit in confusion, his face as red as a virgin’s after Sylvain swept them off their feet. 

"What? No! I'm talking about you! You’re the one I feel that way about!"

Sylvain’s assumptions screeched to a halt like a wagon losing a wheel as it tried to course correct.

What were the traits Dimitri had listed again? Surely he didn’t believe Sylvain ‘always thinking with the wrong head’ Gautier was any of those virtuous things? It’s not like Sylvain had never considered Dimitri as a potential partner ever since he grew up and filled out, but that was the sort of unattainable fantasy even he wasn’t self-destructive enough to pursue. You couldn’t just hook up with your king. Besides, Dimitri was ardently not a fan of Sylvain’s approach to life and reminded his margrave of that every chance he got.

"It's cruel to play games with people's hearts,” Sylvain replied. He tried to laugh but it came off as wobbly as he felt. “Didn't you just get done lecturing me about that?"

Dimitri had him pinned now, blue eye blazing with determination. "I'm not playing with you. Have you ever known me to make light of such things?"

"You never 'make light' of anything.”

"Exactly. I’m always serious.” Dimitri crossed his arms, triumphant for only a matter of seconds before his insecurities overwhelmed him. His shoulders dropped with his gaze. “...which I realize now you find distasteful."

Trusting in instincts that screamed he needed to stop this before Dimitri got too far into his head, Sylvain cut in, "Whoa, whoa, hang on there. I said I didn't want to marry some random girl I don't know who's as serious as you are. That's not because I don't like you. It's because I already have you, and no one else could replace that."

Dimitri shook his head. "Still, I'm sorry if my feelings come as a burden to you. I know our history has been complicated and..."

"And I'm going to stop you right there, Dimitri.” The use of his name forced the king to look Sylvain in the eye again. “Look, sincerity and I have never had a good relationship, but even I know there's a time and a place to be genuine, so here’s the truth. You aren't the only one who's been considering it."

"It?” The light flickered back to life in Dimitri’s eye. “You mean...? But why didn't you say anything?"

Sylvain snorted, throwing his hands in the air. "And what was I supposed to say? 'Hey, I know you're my king and we can't hold a conversation that's not about our country for more than five minutes, but that's okay because talking with you about revolutionizing Faerghus is the best part of my day'? Or maybe you'd prefer the standard 'I think about you every night my bed is empty'?"

"That would be more romantic if I didn't know how rarely your bed is empty," Dimitri deadpanned. It might not have been a joke, exactly, but at least it wasn’t a rejection.

"Romantic wasn't what I was going for, but you get my point. You've been on my mind. A lot. And for once not just because I'm worried about you or angry that you keep wasting your breath yelling at me."

A cold, blue eye narrowed. "I wasn't aware that caring about a friend despite their bad habits was so annoying. My apologies."

He deserved that one. Chuckling at Dimitri’s cutting remark, Sylvain leaned forward again, resting his hand far enough across the table that the king could reach it if he wanted to. "Alright, alright, I get your point. How about this: we make another deal."

"Hitting on women is wildly inappropriate as King, Sylvain,” Dimitri reminded him. Staring at the hand in the middle of the table, he toyed with his gauntlets to calm his nerves.

"Who said anything about women? I'm proposing we try...this," Sylvain gestured between them, "and if you agree not to yell at me about my personal life, I'll stop going after women while we do it."

Dimitri’s fingers tentatively moved towards Sylvain’s, a questioning warmth brewing in his gaze. "I hope you’re not making a promise you have no intention of keeping."

"I'm serious,” Sylvain assured him. “You asked why I'm always chasing women? Well, it's not that complicated. It's relaxing to let a few loads loose, and that’s more fun with someone else. Losing the ability to sleep around isn't a big deal if I'm with somebody that I actually like."

Suddenly, the hand was gone and Dimitri’s eye was frigid again. He crossed his arms protectively over his heart, voice as biting as the wind outside. "I will not be another of your conquests, Sylvain. I had hoped you'd consider faithfulness to another person for reasons other than one warm bed being as good as another. Forget I said anything."

Pushing away from the table, the king made to stand and dismiss his guest.

"No, hey, wait! Dimitri!" 

Sylvain scrambled from his seat, rushing to take Dimitri’s hands in his own before it was too late. He had no idea what he was doing. Begging for forgiveness was a common occurrence for him, sure, but never with panic clogging his throat. He could count the number of people he cared about enough to give chase after them on a single hand, and Dimitri had suddenly skyrocketed to the top of that list. 

"I misspoke. I…” Sylvain floundered, dropping the king’s hand to run an anxious hand through fiery locks. “Goddess, this is hard to talk about." 

Dimitri stared down at him, his height giving him a new level of intimidation Sylvain swore he would never get used to, but didn’t pull away. Bless his too-tender heart, the man was really going to give Sylvain a chance to explain himself.

"I meant...The truth is...I go after them because…” Sylvain grimaced. “Because maybe you were right with what you said earlier. Neither of us knows how to take care of ourselves.” He shifted from leg to leg, staring at Dimitri’s collarbone peeking from his tunic instead of the judgment in his eye. “Honestly, I feel sick when they look at me. No matter how many times I tell myself that I hate them and am doing some public service by teaching gold-diggers a lesson, when I'm done all I feel is..." Sylvain chuckled instead of finishing his sentence, like a horse flinching from a jump after getting a pace too close to the barrier. "Ah, listen to me going off. You had the right idea, Your Majesty. Better to not get involved in this mess."

But Dimitri wouldn’t be Dimitri if he had any sense of self-preservation.

"You feel empty inside. That's what you were thinking, wasn't it?" the king guessed, his voice no more than a whisper.

Sylvain's smile dragged at the corners. "When did you get so perceptive?"

"When I spent 5 years lost in that emptiness and trying to fill it with the blood of the Empire,” Dimitri answered solemnly. “Fighting made it stop for a little while. I could feel something in battle, even if it sickened me, but when the carnage faded all that remained was the stench of blood and the cries of the dead dragging me back under. It never helped, but it was the only way I knew relief. So I kept doing it."

"And you think that's the way I'm headed," Sylvain guessed, though it wasn’t a question.

"What do you think?"

That he’d been exposed far too much for his liking and the walls were pressing in, threatening to crush him.

"I think you're a lot more insightful than Felix gives you credit for.” Meeting Dimitri’s gaze with a gentle twist of his head and a coy smile, Sylvain dealt with his discomfort the only way he knew how. “I also think I'd like to kiss you."

Dimitri, damn his self-control, was ready for that response. 

"Only if you'll stay," the king insisted.

Sylvain grinned, taking the opportunity to feign misunderstanding and muscle into Dimitri’s space, hoping it might change the king’s mind. "Propositioning me already? Not that I intend to say no, but I didn't think you had it in you."

"Not a proposition,” Dimitri clarified. He stopped the margrave with a hand on his chest. “An offer to help someone I love with their demons. If you kiss me, then you stay away from women for today. I'll help you get through the night without them. And without sex."

"I've never had someone think an insatiable brute like me would prefer abstinence over sex," Sylvain snorted.

Dimitri smiled, serene and far too clever. "Am I wrong?"

Words weren’t needed to answer that question. Lucky, because Sylvain’s river of words had finally run dry. 

He tangled a hand in Dimitri’s hair, ignoring how the tie caught on his fingers while his other caught the edge of his king’s jaw, smoothing along the invisible stubble grown from a long day’s work. Dimitri followed his guidance without question. Sweet and entirely undeserved, he trusted Sylvain to tilt his head downwards, lips parting at the soft brush of a thumb over their cracked surface.

The kiss was clumsier than it had been in Sylvain’s daydreams, but that hardly mattered. It was real. Dimitri - impossibly kind, forgiving, loving Dimitri - was really making shapeless, wanton sounds against him, half-closed eye shimmering with desire and a trembling hand burrowing into the small of Sylvain’s back. When he forced them to part, Sylvain tilting his head up to chase the sensation instead of towering over his partner like he normally did, Dimitri was already panting. He worried at his lower lip with his teeth, and Sylvain had half a mind to suck on it himself.

Maybe Dimitri had a point about his sexual habits being out of control.

"I'll take that as acceptance,” Dimitri murmured, clearing his throat. Sylvain wondered if any of his previous partners had managed to make him sound so deliciously out of breath with a single kiss. “Why don't you settle in for the night and I'll fetch some books for us to read? It may not be your typical idea of a fun evening..."

Sylvain pressed a finger to Dimitri’s lips, smirking at the squeak of surprise as he was interrupted. "Don't go apologizing. It sounds perfect."

It was perfect. Sylvain didn’t often get to indulge in this kind of closeness, snuggling against someone’s chest and being held without the promise of anything more.

Dimitri turned out to be a decent storyteller. It must have been all his time spent at the orphanages. Sylvain swore that the sight of an imposing guy like Dimitri kneeling to let a child put a flower in his hair was so saccharine that it could kill a man. 

The king was an even better pillow, heat radiating off of him like a twilight campfire smoldering before the dawn. In a few hours it would be intolerable, both men too suited to the frigid northern climate to sleep next to a body that warm, but for now, sharing stories like secrets, their closeness felt like contentment more than the warmth of a nameless woman ever had. 

"Thank you for giving me a chance," Dimitri murmured into Sylvain’s hair.

Sylvain nuzzled against his cheek, tickled by the soft sigh that slipped from his king’s lips. "That's my line. You're Dimitri, the Savior King, a man with a heart so wide and deep a man could drown in it. I'm the good-for-nothing."

"I'm afraid I have to disagree,” Dimitri quarreled because he could never let anyone else give the last compliment. “You have done more for Faerghus than any other without raising a hand to violence. I admire you, Sylvain. I have always relied on you, though I know I show it poorly."

Sylvain laughed against his king’s skin. "Now who has the silver tongue?"

"Still you. I'm just incapable of being dishonest if you recall."

"Yet still so charming." Sylvain’s fingers wandered along the expanse of Dimitri’s chest to trace his name in bold strokes. Slow and tantalizing, a sultry promise to match the mood of the evening. "You know, this is comfortable and all, but I wouldn't be opposed if you wanted something more."

"Another night." 

_ When you're ready _ , Sylvain heard Dimitri say in the silence. His hand stilled. 

"You'll welcome me back? Even though I can't offer you anything?" he mumbled into the king’s chest.

Incensed by the question, Dimitri shifted his grip on Sylvain, cupping his jaw to force the other man to look him in the eye. He spoke slowly, deliberately. 

"Love is not a transaction, Sylvain." 

It had been, with Miklan and his father. He had paid for Miklan’s love with his pain, though it was never enough. He paid for his father’s with his crest and his obedience. 

It had been a transaction with all the women and rare men Sylvain lured into his bed, too. They wanted money, power, and fame, and they’d bat their eyes and whisper a lover’s promise in his ear until they got it.

It had even been so with Ingrid and Felix sometimes. Sylvain always wondered how many more mistakes it would take before they gave up on him. How long before their love failed. If one day, he'd almost get himself killed and instead of the rush of relief at seeing them by his bedside, proving one person out there cared about him even if he had nothing to give in return, he'd be alone.

Dimitri must have sensed his thoughts because Sylvain was now in a crushing, one-armed hug. 

"I won't pretend to know what you're thinking, but you looked like you needed it," he explained, as though he didn't also often feel like he didn't deserve the love given to him. 

"I'll tell you one day," Sylvain offered. Placing his hand over Dimitri's on the side of the book, Sylvain ran a thumb over the page and squeezed around the king’s knuckles. "So what did you say was going on with the farmer? He’d been turned into one of his goats?"

Love might not be a transaction, but he wanted to hold onto this feeling as long as he could.


End file.
